His Conquest

by Diana Cosby

  “Have you not pushed me from the first? Or is it,” Linet said, anger rolling over her caution of moments before, “that only you, the exalted Earl of Grey, has the right to order anyone he chooses about, fairness be damned?”

  Seathan caught her shoulders. “Fairness?” His voice lowered to a dangerous calm. “An odd word spoken in a realm where King Edward makes the rules, slaughters those who disagree. Had I been as fair as your English king, I would have escaped from the cell, locked it, and abandoned you within.”

  “You needed me to help carry you out.”

  “Nay, that I allowed you to believe.”

  She scoffed. “You would never have made it alone. Your injuries were too severe.”

  “Had the need arisen, I would have crawled to freedom.”

  “Or died trying.”

  “Aye.”

  And he would have. She swallowed hard. “I so tire of men of your ilk, men of arrogance with their thoughts centered on war.” She paused. “Perhaps the mistake was mine. Perhaps I never should have set you free.”

  His hold on her tightened.

  “So now will you punish me? Is that how you quell those who dare challenge you? If so, you are no better than the English king. Release me.”

  “You are afraid.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I fear no man.”

  “Aye, you do. Your quickened pulse does not lie as charmingly as your lips.” He lifted her chin. “You want me. Yet you fear a man who makes you feel, a man who makes you yearn for him in the middle of the night.”

  Seathan damned himself. Why was he cornering her? This close, with her full lips tempting his and her eyes dark with desire, he couldn’t seem to step away.

  “You make me feel nothing.”

  “Another lie. This,” he whispered, “is truth.” He covered her mouth, hot, hard, demanding a response, tasting the essence of this woman whom he wanted beyond all reason.

  Instead of kissing him back, Linet closed her mouth against him.

  He almost laughed. After their passionate interlude in the cave, he knew the heat within, the passion she withheld to prove her point. So he skillfully teased her mouth, nibbled along her earlobe, while he lazily seduced her with his fingers, skimming along the silky column of her throat until her body quivered against his.

  At her gasp, he deepened the kiss in a hot assault, using tongue and teeth in his sensual war. He waited for her rebellion, for her to struggle to break free. Instead, she surrendered, totally, completely, the intensity of her response almost driving him to his knees. Neither the kiss within the cave, nor that upon his steed, held a candle to this heat—a blaze that could devastate a man in a trice.

  Behind her, the bed came into view, inviting him to lay her upon it, to strip her naked and make love until day changed to night. Then, through the sultry hours beyond, to satisfy her in every way, only to begin again.

  Never had a woman evoked such strong desire within him, not even Iuliana, the woman who’d shattered his heart.

  Linet’s kiss was lush, untutored, and longing. She was an innocent, not his to take. And she never would be. He must keep his focus on Scotland’s freedom, on finding Dauid.

  Thoughts of the traitor cooled his desire.

  Seathan released her. The flush of her face and the stark desire in her eyes urged him to reclaim her mouth. But if he touched her now, with his emotions raw, he’d make the gravest of errors—he’d make love with her. And with her looking at him as if a smitten enchanted fairy, she would allow it.

  Enchanted fairy?

  The errant thought severed the last of his lust-filled musings. He broke away and glared around the room.

  Dust stirred the air in a furious sweep flecked with glitters of light. The fairies woven within the tapestry hanging upon the wall seemed to smile at him.

  Christ’s blade! His mind was growing addled. His grandmother had had the second sight, and he’d respected her ability to foresee the future, but it ended there. Magic was but a bard’s tale. Naught but his own decisions guided his life.

  “What is wrong?” Linet asked, eyes wide, her voice rough with desire.

  “Naught.” Everything. He could almost feel his body being pushed toward the lass as if unseen hands urged him on while erotic visions of her naked and losing herself in their passion claimed his thoughts. He rubbed the low pounding beneath his brow, irritated with himself for allowing his mind to conjure such nonsense.

  Linet glanced toward the sturdy table. Gasped. “The halved gemstone is glowing again.”

  Again? God’s teeth! “’Tis naught but a trick of the light,” he growled, ignoring the fact that the handcrafted bowl lay within the shadows.

  “But—”

  “I will be back within an hour,” he interrupted, determined to rectify this entire damnable situation. “Be ready.”

  Understanding creased her face. “I know why you want me to leave this chamber.” She studied the room in awe. “It is truly luxurious. Peaceful. And belongs to someone you love.” With her hand holding the coverlet tight against her body, she began gathering her things, but he didn’t miss her trembling. “I will be ready to move upon your return.”

  “This was my grandmother’s chamber.”

  She turned. “A fact explained by Nichola earlier.”

  Seathan turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. At the doorway he paused. “On the morrow I depart. I will be gone but a few days. Upon my return, I will take you to the Highlands.”

  “You are leaving so soon?”

  He ignored the shock in her voice and opened the door.

  “Wait,” she called.

  He turned. “A maid will escort you to your new chamber within the hour.”

  “A maid? You said you would return yourself.”

  “Be ready,” he said, ignoring her question. Seathan strode from the chamber.

  The overbearing oaf! Linet ran toward the door, halted. What would she do if she caught him? It was not as if he would listen to her. And if he did, what would she tell him? Regret stole through her. What could she tell him?

  The answer was simple—nothing.

  Frustrated, she returned to the bed. On shaky knees, Linet sagged upon the delicate coverlet. The memory of his mouth, the touch of his hands upon her, lingered, but she couldn’t think about him or what he made her feel.

  Seathan was leaving her here alone. Nay, not alone. Nichola was in the castle.

  On edge, she stood, rubbed her hands upon the goose bumps prickling her skin. The Englishwoman had not yet recalled where they’d met or her name. Given Nichola’s sharp mind, in time, she would. And loyal to Seathan, once she remembered their meeting, Nichola would alert him.

  Linet released a shaky breath. For her own safety, before then, she must leave.

  She glanced outside the window at the sun-streaked sky. If she hurried, she might slip away before anyone noticed she had left.

  Linet dismissed any concern over the maid Seathan was sending. If the woman found the chamber empty, the servant would assume she had descended to break her fast. Hours would pass before anyone discovered her absence. Focused on his plans to depart on the morrow, Seathan would not even know she’d gone.

  Her decision made, she hurried to dress. With dawn filling the chamber, she turned one last time to take in the room. She’d spent one night here, merely hours, but for the first time in years, she’d felt welcome, truly rested and safe.

  The sparkle of light from the corner caught her attention. The gemstones. The halved moss agate continued to glow. Compelled, she walked over, ran her fingers over the smooth stone. Seathan’s stone. An ache built in her throat.

  In their short time together, he’d touched her life, had made such a deep impression she doubted she would ever cleanse his presence from her soul.

  Against logic, against her every instinct, she cared for him. How could she not? Seathan was a man of compassion, a man of determination, and a man who protected what was his. The peopl
e within his castle respected him, his family loved him. Nobles were plentiful throughout the land, but few were men of substance, few were leaders. Lord Grey held the secret many powerful nobles strove for but never found—he was a man who loved deeply.

  What would it be like if he loved her? She trembled, shaken by the thought, more so by the emptiness inside her, the desperation to know.

  Throughout the time she’d known him, she’d tried to dismiss her feelings for him, assured herself his manner was too hard, too unyielding, and focused on war.

  And had failed.

  A tear slid down her cheek as the reason burst into her mind. God help her, she had fallen in love with Seathan.

  Despite her determination not to, despite his boorish behavior in her bedchamber and her intent not to care, he’d stole past her defenses, entrenched himself where logic had no foothold.

  Her heart pounded.

  “I am a fool,” she whispered into the thick silence. “I thought myself strong, needing no one, and here I love a man who is at odds with all I am trying to achieve.”

  She rubbed her face, stared out the window to where shards of morning sun swept over the land in a golden caress. An ache tightened in her throat. As if it was any day. A day for hopes. A day in which dreams lived.

  Linet withdrew her hand and turned away. No, dreams didn’t exist this day, only danger.

  With her heart aching, she looked at the bowl one last time. The moss agate still glowed as if beckoning her. Though she might never have Seathan, would it be so wrong to keep a small part of what belonged to him?

  Before she convinced herself otherwise, Linet clasped the halved gem. Warmth swirled in her palm and a sense of comfort infused her. With the moss agate stowed in her pocket, she took her cape and slipped from the chamber.

  Flames rose in the hearth, the warmth filling the room as Seathan nodded to his brothers. “I have sent runners to several Scottish castles explaining Bishop Wishart’s strategy for reclaiming Scotland. With the English king focused on the war against France, working to build an alliance with the Flemish, and ignorant of Bishop Wishart’s guidance as well as that of the other Guardians of Scotland, we have the tactical advantage to regain Scotland’s freedom.”

  “Aye,” Alexander agreed. “And the heart.”

  Duncan took a long swig of ale at the war table strewn with unrolled maps, then set down the goblet. “When do you expect to hear word from Bishop Wishart?”

  “Another month at most,” Seathan replied. “With the English slaughtering all who oppose them, we cannot wait longer.”

  Alexander grimaced. “With you hobbling about, I still think it unwise that you travel on the morrow.”

  “Hobbling about?” Seathan asked. “My wounds are well healed and I—”

  “You have rested little,” Duncan interrupted, his expression hard. “Wait another day, if not two, before you go.”

  Seathan shoved to his feet, ignoring the tug of healing muscles. “I will wait no longer to find Dauid. Already he has enjoyed his freedom overmuch.”

  “Fine,” Duncan agreed. “Then we will go with you.”

  “Nay.” Seathan took a swig of his ale. “You will remain here for word from Bishop Wishart. Or from any of the other Guardians. We must be ready to fight.”

  Alexander cocked a brow. “And your leaving will help that?”

  Seathan banged down his goblet. “We have a traitor in our midst.”

  “Aye.” Alexander shoved away his ale and stood. “And I still find it difficult to believe Dauid betrayed us.”

  “As do I,” Duncan agreed, standing beside his brother.

  Seathan stared at the flames, his friend’s treachery tearing at his soul. “Unless I had witnessed his treasonous act, it is the last thing I would have believed as well. ’Twas hard penning the missive to Wallace to warn him against a man we once called friend.” He lifted his cup, swirled the golden brew. “But then, war changes men, twists them into people no longer recognizable.”

  A knock sounded upon the door.

  “Enter,” Seathan ordered.

  A runner stepped inside. He halted before Seathan and bowed. “My lord, I have come from Bishop Wishart. He sends his blessings and an urgent missive.” He passed him a leather-bound writ.

  “My thanks.” Tension filled the chamber as Seathan untied the cured leather cover, withdrew the tightly wound parchment, then broke the seal. The cured goatskin scraped as he quickly unrolled it and read through the penned words. He stilled. “God’s teeth!”

  “What is wrong?” Alexander asked.

  In stunned disbelief, Seathan looked up. The news threatened the rebels’ very foundation. “Wallace has slain the English Sheriff of Lanark!”

  Nichola paced along the wall walk in the warmth of the morning sunlight. She glanced toward the tower window of Alexander’s grandmother’s chamber, the room where Linet had slept this past night, the same chamber she’d resided in upon first coming to Lochshire Castle.

  A smile flickered on her mouth. So much had changed since her arrival, since Alexander had abducted her and imprisoned her as his captive. The warmth of love filled her. Now she and Alexander had a son.

  The shimmering rays glinted off the tower of rock, the stone laid to build an impregnable defense. A chill swept her, and her smile fell away.

  As if a door opened, she remembered standing within an opulent ballroom in King Edward’s castle with her brother, Griffin. Of the many people he’d introduced her to, she focused on one.

  Lady Linet Dancort.

  God in heaven. Her breath caught. Linet was the sister of the Viscount of Tearlach, the noble who had imprisoned Seathan and sentenced him to die!

  Except, Linet had set Seathan free.

  Why?

  A strong hand caught her shoulder; she jumped.

  “I meant not to startle you,” her husband said as he turned her toward him. Sharp eyes studied her face. “You are upset.”

  An understatement. She looked about to ensure no one would overhear them.

  “Is the news so dire?” he teased.

  Nichola lifted her gaze to meet his. Concern filled his eyes, but love as well, a love he’d given her when she’d expected naught but death. That was a year ago. Since then, everything had changed.

  Now, he was her husband, a man she could trust, a man she would love forever, a man from whom she would never keep a secret, no matter how hard to reveal.

  “Tell me.”

  His quiet words unsettled her further. “It is about Lady Linet. I know who she is.” Then she quietly explained.

  Alexander cursed. “Come. We must tell Seathan.”

  They hurried down the steps, then rushed to where Seathan quietly planned for war.

  At their entrance, he turned. Seathan stepped forward. “What is wrong?”

  Silence crawled through the chamber.

  Nichola glanced once at her husband, then back toward Seathan, and wished she was wrong. “Linet is the Viscount of Tearlach’s sister.”

  Chapter 11

  “Lord Tearlach’s sister!” Outrage poured through Seathan. Whatever he’d envisioned as Linet’s secret paled in comparison to the truth.

  From the start she’d lied to him. Everything about her had been an act. Her fear of Tearlach. Her desperation. Her need to escape. She’d been setting him up to betray them.

  Nichola shot her husband a nervous glance, then looked at Seathan. “When I first met Lady Linet upon your arrival at Lochshire Castle, I thought her familiar. I asked if we had met, but she assured me she knew me not.”

  “Aye,” Seathan said through gritted teeth, his mind churning with the tales the lass had fed him. “I am sure she did. Whatever her part in the twisted plot devised by her brother, I am sure he planned for me to remain ignorant of their ties.”

  Alexander’s expression darkened. “What do you think is the bastard’s intent?”

  “To learn rebel plans.” Hadn’t Seathan suspected her of deceiving him
from the first? The warrior in him had eyed her with distrust, but their passionate interludes had smothered his mind’s warnings, his desire obscuring what a blind man could have seen.

  Furious, Seathan spun to leave. He almost slammed into Duncan as he entered the room, his face hard with anger.

  “A runner has arrived with disturbing news,” Duncan stated.

  “’Twould seem a day for such,” Alexander spat.

  Seathan shoved his hands upon his hips. “Tell us.”

  “The runner states Lord Tearlach has charged Seathan with abducting his sister.” Outrage slashed Duncan’s face. “Tell me Lady Linet is not the viscount’s sister.”

  “It is true,” Seathan replied, hating every word. “I learned the fact but moments ago.”

  Duncan scowled. “How could you? The runner has barely dismounted from his steed.”

  “I told him,” Nichola replied. “Several years ago, I met Lady Linet at an event at Westminster Palace.”

  “Why did you not tell us before?” Duncan asked.

  Alexander drew his wife against his side. “She told us as soon as she remembered.”

  Duncan rubbed the back of his neck, focused on Seathan. “There is more. Tearlach has offered a reward for you—alive or dead.”

  Alexander snorted. “As if the bastard did not want him dead from the first. I’m sure his only regret was not hanging Seathan while he was rotting in his dungeon.”

  “Which is why,” Seathan said, wading through the muddle of thoughts storming his mind, “Tearlach’s claim is but a farce.”

  “A farce?” Duncan asked.

  “Aye,” Seathan said. “The viscount’s search for his sister is well planned. The days he has allowed to pass since Linet and I escaped were to give her time to gain my trust as well as information about rebel activity. Now he allows the lure of coin to aid him in finding her, believing the search will lead to me and to the information she has culled.”

  Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “She is a spy?”

  Seathan didn’t want to believe it, searched for another explanation, but none came. “With her blood tie to Tearlach and the fact she kept her identity secret, I must believe that. But if she is indeed a spy, why has she not tried to pry rebel information from me?” None of this was making a bit of sense. “Whatever her intent, I will bloody find out.” He stalked to the door.